


What's new, pussycat?

by ladylapislazuli



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Relationship, Temporary Animal Transformation, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24038311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladylapislazuli/pseuds/ladylapislazuli
Summary: Dimitri’s guards were prepared for almost everything. For stabbings, for poisonings, for bolts of dark magic from afar. For assassination attempts, for enemies wanting to see the king dead.Nobody was expecting Dimitri to be turned into a cat.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 56
Kudos: 439





	What's new, pussycat?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [puppykkung](https://archiveofourown.org/users/puppykkung/gifts).



> This work is a gift fic written for the lovely [puppykkung](https://archiveofourown.org/users/puppykkung) /@yurilixsyndrome who was incredibly kind and supportive to me during some rough days. Hope you enjoy it!!!
> 
> Also big shout out to my sister [lucymonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster) for editing this for me, despite knowing nothing about the canon. A true hero.
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNINGS: Anger issues, implied PTSD. An instance of physical violence (please see end notes).

Dimitri’s day is really not going how he - or anyone else - expected.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Felix says. He is standing, arms crossed, in Dimitri’s chambers.

“I am not kidding you.” Dedue presses Dimitri closer to his chest – still a novel experience – stroking a hand down the length of Dimitri’s spine.

It does not have the soothing effect Dedue intends. It serves mainly as a reminder of just how _big_ Dedue seems at the moment. Dedue is always a large man, but in Dimitri’s current state, his hands are positively _huge_.

“That… _that_ is Dimitri,” Felix says. Arms folded, lips drawn into a firm line of disbelief.

“Yes.”

“You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

Felix takes a long breath. Presses a hand to his temple. “How can you be certain?”

“I witnessed it.”

“And the assailant _escaped_?”

“Yes.” Dedue’s grip tightens around Dimitri’s frame. An involuntary motion, for Dedue is nothing if not gentle. Dimitri bats at one of his hands, and Dedue startles. Loosens his hold at once. “My apologies, Your Majesty.”

Felix stares. Dimitri stares back, and to his great surprise, it is _Felix_ who looks away first. Felix looks back to Dedue, squaring his shoulders and tossing his hair back out of his face.

He is remarkably composed about all this for a man who, mere minutes ago, burst through the door of Dimitri’s chambers with wild eyes and a letter clutched in his grip, demanding answers before Dedue could so much as open his mouth.

The door to Dimitri’s _private_ chambers, it should be noted. His private chambers, where everyone has been congregating since this happened, tramping in and out of his personal sanctuary without so much as blinking an eye. And it is not –

Well. It is hardly the worst of Dimitri’s problems, right now. But he fixates on it all the same, because Felix is in his messy bedroom and, presumably, seeing _everything._ Dimitri’s sheets are still rumpled from when he climbed out of bed this morning. Yesterday’s shirt and trousers are dumped unceremoniously on a chair far too expensive to serve as Dimitri’s laundry pile. There is a pile of books on Dimitri’s bedside table – histories, mostly, but there is also a rather prominent romance title, the words _Crisis of Passion_ emblazoned in gold across its spine, and the thought of Felix seeing _that_ by his bedside and Dimitri not being able to _explain_ …

Sometimes, it is easier to focus on the little problems.

“Whoever did this…” Felix says. “They’ll taste my blade.”

“That will not be necessary,” Dedue says. “Ingrid has already taken that task upon herself. She left several hours ago, accompanied by some of the kingdom’s finest knights.”

“Then what can I do?” Felix looks angry, thwarted.

It is not a surprise – Dimitri knows Felix. Knows how he hates standing around. Hates feeling useless, even if only for a moment. It is heartening to know that, after all that has passed between them, Felix still feels compelled to help Dimitri in what ways he can.

Felix looks at Dimitri again. Looks away just as quickly.

“Well,” Dedue says. “There is the matter of governance.”

Felix’s expression sours as Dedue explains what he has in mind. The kingdom needs a regent while Dimitri is indisposed. Someone clever, and just, who knows all the ins and outs of Dimitri’s rulership already. Someone who is widely respected, and whose authority will not be the subject of dispute. Someone who, most importantly of all, will not be inclined to let slip the king’s current… predicament to the general populace.

Dimitri’s guards were prepared for almost everything. For stabbings, for poisonings, for bolts of dark magic from afar. For assassination attempts, for enemies wanting to see the king dead.

Nobody was expecting Dimitri to be turned into a cat.

\- - -

Being turned into a cat is, to Dimitri’s great surprise, genuinely the least of his problems.

Once the initial shock of the change wears off, Dimitri is… well, fine. Smaller than he is accustomed to, unable to speak or do any of the things he usually does, but he is perfectly healthy. Whole and hale, even if his body has undergone a transformation.

Dimitri is a cat. White, extremely fluffy, but strong and lean and more flexible than his usual self. He cannot talk, but he has retained all of his mental faculties, and is quite capable of making himself understood through a series of gestures and interpretive dance. He can communicate with the people around him, he is in no pain, and the greatest drawback of his current shape is that he sheds a lot.

His pragmatism comes as a surprise even to him. Some dark enchantment has torn him apart and remade him anew, in a shape entirely unfamiliar to him, robbing him of his speech and his role and his _being_.

But Dimitri is fine. Really, genuinely fine. Because all Dimitri can think is that _it could have been worse_.

There are much worse things that could have slipped the net. Much worse fates that could have befallen him. Dimitri has known pain, has known death and destruction and the misery of losing one’s own mind, has seen horrors inflicted upon the people he loves most in the world. Put in that light, being turned into a cat is nothing at all.

Unfortunately, he has been rendered unable to communicate this philosophy. And everyone around him panics.

Dedue can scarcely let Dimitri out of his sight without losing his head. Annette rushes to the palace from the Royal School of Sorcery and _stays there_ , holed up in an office near the library, buried beneath a pile of books with her quill barely pausing as she researches all manner of spells and enchantments to turn him back again. Before Ingrid left to track down his assailant, she knelt before Dimitri with tears in her eyes, announcing herself unworthy of her knighthood and declaring her intent to resign once she had brought his attacker to justice.

That was the worst part of his transformation thus far. Dimitri could not dissuade her – he could not talk. The best he could do was press himself against her, meowing loudly and fruitlessly, until she buried her face in his fur as she cried.

Dimitri is exceedingly fluffy. He does not begrudge her, mortifying as it was for them both afterwards. If that is the best comfort he can provide in his present state, he would do it again, and gladly.

So, the general panic. That is a problem. But his biggest problem by far is Felix.

It is only natural that Felix should act as Dimitri’s regent. An obvious decision, a thoughtless one. A mistake. Dimitri thought Felix’s anger exclusive to him and their complicated relationship.

Dimitri was very, very wrong.

\- - -

“I’ve already told you, _no_ ,” Felix says. Entirely too sharp, too impatient. All but slamming his hand down on the desk as he reaches for another piece of paper.

Count Brann is not easily dissuaded. Smiles that obsequious smile of his, and says, “You are not, perhaps, fully aware of the _context_ , my dear duke. His Majesty and I have discussed this at length, and I assure you His Majesty has proven perfectly amenable to my proposal.”

They have certainly discussed it. Brann’s been going on and on about taxation within his own territory for months – specifically, wanting to cut taxes for himself and his rich friends. Dimitri has been no more easily swayed than Felix. Though given the way Brann speaks, Felix cannot possibly know that.

Felix looks down at his feet to where Dimitri sits. Still small. Still fluffy. Supervising and running affairs as best he can in his current state. Pressing his paws against Felix’s legs to get his attention. Shaking his head, _no, no, no_.

Felix looks back up at Brann. “I’ve given my answer. I won’t repeat myself again.”

A moment of quiet, and Dimitri can picture Brann leaning forward and smiling his slimy smile. “Perhaps you are not aware, Your Grace, of the urgency of this matter. His Majesty will be most… displeased to hear I have been delayed.”

Felix’s patience snaps. “I don’t care. Now get out of this office.”

Dimitri shuts his eye. Heaves a sigh, in as much as his feline body will allow. He _agrees_ with Felix, of course he does – he just wishes Felix would go about it in a different way.

Felix is angry. Has been angry for a long time, and Dimitri assumed it was just with _him_. That Felix’s fits of temper, the sharp lashings of his tongue, were just a regrettable feature of their still-strained relationship.

Not so, it seems. Dimitri has been dealing with explosions of Felix’s temper _all day_.

“How dare you address me so,” the count blusters. “Do you have any idea who I am? The _honour_ of my ancient house?”

“Your _house_ ,” Felix snarls, and the venom in those two simple words is so sudden and frightening that Dimitri’s hair stands on end.

There is a moment, just a moment, before Felix hurtles over the cliff. A moment where he is forced to take in a fresh breath, and Dimitri can _feel_ the black fury pouring out of him – unreasonable, irrational, _unhelpful_ , for that is not the way to deal with greedy lords no matter how tempting it may be.

As a man, Dimitri would not be quick enough. Too large, too slow. But as a cat –

He hurls himself upwards in a sudden, desperate leap. Lands squarely on Felix’s lap at the exact moment Felix begins to rise. For a moment they teeter in the balance, Felix’s momentum carrying him upwards while Dimitri’s tiny body tries to force him back down.

If it were a battle of wills, Dimitri would lose no question. But Dimitri has claws now.

Felix lands back in his seat with a barely-restrained yelp. They stare at each other, man to cat. Dimitri presses his paws against Felix’s belly, claws sheathed but his intent clear.

Felix looks at him. Then, carefully, gingerly, as though handling something explosive, he picks Dimitri up by the middle and sets him back down on the floor. He takes another breath. Lets it out again. His anger is still tangible.

“Speak with the king on his return,” he says to Brann. “There’s nothing I can do for you.”

It is reluctant, bitter. Not a true reflection of Felix’s current powers as Dimitri’s regent – an excuse, and Dimitri can see how it rankles him to use it. But it gets Brann to leave at last.

When the door closes, Felix jerks to his feet, and this time Dimitri does not stop him. Lets him stalk over to the window, clearly wrestling with himself.

At least he is careful not to tread on Dimitri’s paws as he goes.

Dimitri is… not sure what to make of this. Because Felix has always had a sharp tongue, but he is a disciplined man. Cutting, certainly, but reasonable, rational, pragmatic. In control of himself.

What Dimitri has seen today contradicts all of that.

\- - -

“Stupid – wretched – _thing_.”

There is a crash. The distinctive sound of glass shattering.

Dimitri opens his eye to find Felix has thrown the inkwell, smashing it against the stone wall. Felix is on his feet, leaning against the desk and panting, wrestling his temper back under control after breaking another one of Dimitri’s things.

 _Another_ one. The second today alone, and Dimitri has lost count of how many things Felix has thrown, torn, or broken throughout the course of the week.

“I’m going to the training yards,” Felix barks, shoving himself upright so hard the desk moves a few inches along the floor and stalking from the room.

He does not look back. But Dimitri catches a glimpse of his face regardless. Jaw clenched, eyes flashing fury.

He was having trouble with his quill, that was all. A minor problem, a minor annoyance. And Felix did… this.

Dimitri hops down from his seat. Paces the room, careful to avoid the broken glass. Thinking, as he has never had cause to think before. Felix is out of control. Losing his temper constantly, regularly, with little provocation. Fighting with all of Dimitri’s lords and ladies, with his council, with his servants.

Only careful supervision and frequent application of Dimitri’s claws has been successful in reining Felix in. In preventing him from ruining, in one fell stroke, all of the hard work Dimitri has done.

As a king, Dimitri is beyond furious. Ready to fire Felix on the spot, because Felix is his regent and this is _not good enough_.

As Dimitri… he keeps seeing Felix’s face. The wildness of his anger, the sudden bursts of it, explosive and entirely unwarranted by the circumstances. The way he cannot look at Dimitri when his temper dies and reason returns at last. The _shame_ written on every line of his face.

Felix is ashamed. Out of control, and ashamed.

Dimitri shuts his eye. His chest aches, for a reason he cannot entirely explain. He did not see it. Assumed that Felix’s anger was for _him_ , and thought little further on the matter. He did not realise Felix was struggling.

Foolish, in retrospect. What does it say about them that it has taken such a dramatic transformation of Dimitri’s very being for him to notice?

When Felix slinks back into the office a few hours later, he still cannot look at Dimitri. Gets back to work with short, sharp motions, pulling papers towards him and going through them one by one.

Defensive, Dimitri thinks. And explosive as his temper is, there is something fragile beneath it. He sits in his armchair and watches Felix refuse to acknowledge his presence.

They were friends, once. The best of friends. But he has never seen Felix in this light, never thought it would come to this. Felix is lashing out wildly, randomly, heedless of the consequences. A wounded animal, frightening in the force of his anger.

Dimitri sighs. Looks down at his paws – small, white, fluffy, with little pink pads on the other side. Dimitri is a cat. Temporarily, he hopes, but a cat. He cannot talk to Felix right now. Though given their track record of arguments, that is probably for the best.

Ignoring the flush of embarrassment, Dimitri gets down from his chair and winds himself around Felix’s legs. Offering what little comfort he can, extending his hand as best as he is able. Then, when Felix does not object, he settles there. Sitting on Felix’s feet.

It does not last long. After a few minutes Felix shifts, unable to contain his physical energy, and Dimitri takes the hint. Hops off, letting Felix prowl around the office. Watching Felix come back, try paperwork again, then throw it back down with a noise of disgust.

Felix is _so angry_. All the time, seemingly without reprieve.

Not good, Dimitri thinks. Not good. And trapped in feline form as he is, his kingdom in Felix’s hand, he is not sure what he can do about it.

\- - -

Felix’s temper does not get any better as he adjusts to his regency. It gets worse.

When Sylvain enters Dimitri’s office, Dimitri perks up at the sight of him. Meows in welcome, and Sylvain greets him with a flourishing bow and a huge grin on his face, amusement twinkling in his eyes. Of all his friends, Sylvain alone finds Dimitri’s predicament funny.

He claps a hand on Felix’s shoulder in greeting. Felix welcomes him, far friendlier than he is with anyone else, and Dimitri is lulled into a false sense of security. Thinking, mistakenly, that Sylvain and Felix’s long-standing friendship will make this routine meeting go smoothly.

He is wrong. It is an unmitigated disaster.

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” Felix snarls.

It is mere minutes later, and they are both on their feet. Felix is up in Sylvain’s face, skin flushed a deep red and expression contorted with fury. Sylvain isn’t much better, his characteristic good humour replaced by a cold fury that Dimitri has never seen on his face before, not in all the time he’s known him.

“I was under the impression that Gautier was _my_ territory,” Sylvain snaps back.

“ _Your_ territory. You’re pathetic. You’ve got no idea–”

Dimitri has never seen this before from either of them. Never seen them fight like this – another minute and they’ll come to physical blows.

He leaps onto the desk. Meowing loudly, urgently, trying to get their attention, but they have completely forgotten his presence. Felix is shouting, now, gestures sharp and sudden. Sylvain is breathing too hard, his face pale with anger.

Then Felix shoves him, his hand rough on Sylvain’s chest, and Dimitri _has_ to intervene. Throws himself in between them – forgetting, momentarily, that he is a cat. He lands on Felix, claws digging in as he tries to stop himself from falling.

It’s a mistake. Impulsive, stupid, because Felix lets out a harsh noise of pain as Dimitri makes contact. Reaches up, lightning fast, and bodily throws Dimitri off of him.

Dimitri does not remember much after. It happens too fast, and while he has the body of a cat, he lacks the instinct of one. He goes flying through the air, skidding across the desk and landing with a bone-rattling _thump_ on the floor on the other side.

Silence. For a moment, there is blessed, blessed silence.

 _Ow_ , Dimitri thinks in a distant sort of way, and then Sylvain is hurtling around the desk and all but throwing himself to his knees, reaching for Dimitri with urgent hands. Sylvain is the only one who found Dimitri’s predicament funny. There is no trace of humour in his face now.

“Dimitri,” he murmurs, his eyes far too wide.

Dimitri meows in response. Disoriented, more than anything. He wobbles to his feet, and Sylvain gently picks him up. A hand settles on his head, feeling around his ears, and –

It stings. Sylvain’s fingers come back tinged red with Dimitri’s blood.

 _I am all right_ , Dimitri tries to say, but Sylvain cannot understand him. He rises with Dimitri in his arms, still stroking his fur, checking for more injuries, and Dimitri cannot help the flinch when Sylvain presses a hand into his side.

Then Sylvain says, quietly, “For Goddess’ sake, Felix.”

Dimitri blinks up at him. He can hear the reprimand in Sylvain’s voice – Sylvain, reprimanding _Felix_ , which is a shock in and of itself. Even at this angle, he can see the uncharacteristic severity written across Sylvain’s face.

Felix is stock-still in the centre of the room. He has not moved. His face is drained of blood.

Sylvain rounds the desk in silence. Heading for the door, Dimitri still held in his arms.

“Is he–” Felix starts, then stops. His voice oddly hoarse.

“Well, you didn’t kill him,” Sylvain says with a laugh utterly devoid of humour.

He leaves, then. Shushing Dimitri when he tries to explain that he is perfectly whole and hale, undamaged – but to be fair, all that comes out of his mouth is a series of meows. Dimitri tries to wriggle out of his grip, tries to get Sylvain to put him down, because cat or not, Dimitri is still _Dimitri_. He can handle Felix.

Sylvain just tightens his grip. Carries Dimitri out, and slams the door on Felix’s frozen face.

\- - -

“You should be more careful, Your Majesty,” Sylvain says. He is perched on the edge of Dimitri’s bed, sponging the blood from Dimitri’s ear with gentle motions.

There is not much. A small cut, nothing more. It is a whole lot of fuss about nothing, and Dimitri meows his complaint. Sets a firm paw on the bed and stares Sylvain down.

Sylvain just smiles. “I know, I know. I’m normally all for you letting loose a little. But given your current predicament, you’ve gotta take care of yourself. Besides, ladies love cats. You’re missing out on some serious opportunities, here.”

Sylvain is joking in his usual crass way, but his humour does not reach his eyes. He still looks… well, Dimitri is not sure. Not sure why Sylvain seems so worried, all of a sudden.

He pulls away from Sylvain’s hands. Moves to sit a distance away, swishing his tail imperiously behind him. _I am quite all right,_ is what he wants to say. _Explain yourself._ Naturally, it comes out as nothing more than animal noises but he hopes his intent is clear.

Sylvain sets his sponge to the side. Smiles again, reaching out to stroke Dimitri’s long fur. Entirely shameless, and Dimitri bats it with his paw and glares.

“Come on, you’re _cute_ like this. Never thought I’d see the day.” Dimitri glares, and Sylvain sighs again. “He’s… look. Felix is a good guy. But you should stay away from him while you’re like this.”

If he were still a man, Dimitri would gape. Sylvain is Felix’s best friend, this is…

“Don’t look at me like that, kitty cat,” Sylvain says. He tweaks Dimitri’s good ear. “I know how it sounds, believe me. He’s just… well. You can handle him when you’re big again.”

Sylvain smiles. Pets Dimitri’s head, and it occurs to Dimitri with a sudden clarity that Felix and Sylvain’s friendship is so different than his own. That he is an outsider in it. Which Dimitri knew, but never entirely _knew_. Felix’s anger issues are a surprise to Dimitri, but by the look of him, Sylvain knows them well.

Sylvain is Felix’s best friend. Dimitri knows that. Grieves the loss of his childhood closeness with Felix, but his own relationships have changed, too. Dedue came into his life, so different to Felix but so perfectly aligned with Dimitri, and Dedue has long since taken over the role of Dimitri’s closest friend and confidant.

That is just how it is. Sylvain and Felix. Dedue and Dimitri. Then Dimitri and Felix circling around each other with a strange, awkward tension. Former friends, now sort-of friends. King and duke, often at odds, working towards political compromise. Two people who are different in a lot of ways, similar in a lot of others, and Dimitri cannot put a name on what they are to each other.

He cares for Felix, he knows that. Worries, now, to see exactly how much he has missed. How much he would have kept missing, if not for this unexpected upheaval in his life.

He does not get much more time for his thoughts to travel that path. He is interrupted from his musings when Dedue comes striding through the door, arms full of poultices and, inexplicably, bandages.

He hurries to Dimitri’s side. Sits down on the bed and, ever so carefully, reaches for Dimitri. No amount of meowing will dissuade him from his worry as he rubs poultices into the bruises. 

“Thank you for bringing him to me,” Dedue says to Sylvain.

“Best place for him,” Sylvain says. His tone is light, but his opinion is not. “I’ll deal with Felix.”

Dedue’s expression tightens. Anger, real anger, flashes across his usually calm face.

“I’ll deal with him,” Sylvain repeats. “You look after our fluffy friend, here.” He tweaks Dimitri’s good ear again – it is becoming a habit, it seems – then smiles when Dimitri gives him a baleful look.

Annette comes rushing through the door, next, for no particular reason that Dimitri can discern. Who even told her what happened? Dimitri’s ear has a small cut, it is hardly a national emergency. But now he has _three_ people crowding around him.

Dimitri is very small at the moment. He forgets, sometimes. But with all three of them looming over him, it is hard not to notice.

Annette coos over Dimitri, checking his ear, scratching his fur even when he gives her his most serious look. She has seemingly forgotten that Dimitri is a man rather than a regular house cat when she scoops him up against her chest. Dimitri leans as far away from her as possible – no matter his shape, there is such a thing as appropriate gentlemanly behaviour – but she does not seem to notice.

Dedue and Sylvain seize the opportunity to withdraw and murmur to each other out of hearing range. Quiet, serious. Making decisions without his input, and Dimitri hates that. Hated it before he was king and hates it even more now. He can mind his own safety, thank you. He does not need looking after.

“Aww, look at your ear, poor thing,” Annette says, in a voice decidedly verging on baby-talk. She strokes his fur, trying to cradle him even closer, and that is absolutely not happening.

Dimitri twists in her grip and sets a paw on the most neutral place he can find – her shoulder. Looks up at her pointedly – _I am still me, remember?_ – but finds his affront fading now he gets a good look at her face. Annette doesn’t look like she has slept. Her hands are covered in ink stains. Her face is pale, and there are bags under her eyes, and though she chatters to him with her usual peppy enthusiasm, he can see her anxiety in her incessant, stroking fingers.

“You don’t have to worry about a thing,” she tells him. “Just think – you can take a few days off up here, and then I’ll have you back to normal. You can go back to work then! And in the meantime, you can take a holiday.”

Annette is the one who needs a holiday, or at the very least some rest. She has taken the responsibility of transforming him back entirely on herself, it seems. She need not. She _should_ not. Annette is a brilliant mage, but she need not do this alone.

Dimitri meows. Sets his hand – or, well, his _paw_ – more firmly upon her shoulder. Gives her the gravest look he can muster, trying to make her _understand_.

Annette _laughs_ , which is not her usual response to his serious looks.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says. “You’re very cute like this, Your Majesty.”

So Dimitri keeps hearing.

Sylvain leaves with a final quiet word to Dedue. Annette sets Dimitri back down on the bed and stands up. Swaying on her feet, and Dimitri is not the only one to shoot her a concerned look. Dedue steadies her with a gentle hand as he makes his way back to Dimitri, and she offers him an exhausted smile.

Dedue says nothing. Annette takes her leave, and Dimitri is still sitting there on his too-large bed, ear damp and his fur covered in a poultice he does not need, with a fretting Dedue hovering over him.

Something has to be done. Cat or not, Dimitri will figure something out.

\- - -

Dedue does not let him out of his sight for days after the incident with Felix. He’s locked in his chambers, and no amount of meowing or putting his foot down can persuade Dedue to let him out. This is a serious problem. Dimitri had been supervising Felix’s work, intervening when he needed to. Now, he is not even allowed in his office.

Dimitri is the king. He _needs_ to govern his country, even if he must do it through the medium of frequent prods to his regent’s knees. He is a cat for now, but he has faith that Annette will be able to turn him back. And if she cannot…

Well. There are worse fates. Dimitri has already lived far longer than he thought he would. Far longer than he entirely deserves, with his bloodied past. He does not understand why everyone is so worried about him.

He yowls insistently. Stands by the door, placing a paw upon it in obvious demand.

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” Dedue says, but makes no move to open it.

Dedue is as unyielding as ever. And as the days go on, Dimitri’s attempts at persuasion slowly degrade in dignity. He hits new depths when he takes to following Dedue about the room, making the most ear-splitting noise his tiny throat can generate. Which, as it turns out, is a _lot_ of noise.

If the circumstances were any different, it would be disgracefully childish behaviour. But this is Dedue, after all – even in his human state, Dedue sees sides of Dimitri he would never let anyone else see out of sheer mortification. (A recent incident with too much wine and a sudden enthusiasm for song springs to mind, but Dimitri is trying to forget that one.) This screeching may be a new level of undignified, but if Dimitri must irritate Dedue into releasing him, then so be it.

It does not work. Dedue closes his eyes, and a muscle in his jaw twitches, and every so often he looks like he might like to cover his ears, but that is as much of a reaction as Dimitri can get out of him.

Dimitri is officially out of ideas. He will not _hurt_ Dedue, not with claws or teeth or temper. They are at an impasse.

He wastes a whole day lying listlessly about his chambers, giving Dedue tragic looks, before new inspiration comes to him. As a man, Dimitri is not good at sneaking. Too large, too broad, too disinclined to such dishonourable pursuits. But as a _cat_ …

Well. Needs must, and all that.

\- - -

That evening when Dedue is asleep, Dimitri oozes out of an open window, quietly marvelling that he is able to fit through it at all. He is fluffy. _Extremely_ fluffy. And apparently the body beneath is much smaller than he knew.

Dimitri has a plan. A simple one, admittedly, but a plan nonetheless. He is going to see Annette and Felix.

The plan beyond that is still undecided, but Dimitri has to do _something_.

He finds Annette hunched over a mountain of books. Two trays beside her, lunch and dinner, both untouched. She is propped up on one hand, turning pages with fumbling fingers. Shaking herself every so often as she lists to the side, her exhausted body at war with her determination to keep going. Dimitri hears a sniffle. Sees her cover her face with her hands, rubbing at it.

Enough, Dimitri thinks. Enough.

He pads towards her. Not announcing himself, as he usually would. Instead he moves on silent feet and leaps up onto the desk, pinning the page down with his paw.

It takes her a moment to even notice his presence. And when she does, her response is delayed. She sees him, blinks, and he can see the cogs turning slowly in her mind as she registers who he is. Alarmingly slow. Annette is beyond exhausted – he has not seen her like this since the war.

“Oh, hello,” she says. Shaking her head again, jolting herself awake. Wiping, once again, at her eyes.

Dimitri meows. Considers his options, then sets his paw meaningfully on her dinner tray. Food first, then bed. She will sleep better that way.

“I’m getting to it, I promise,” Annette says. “I just need to…”

Dimitri meows again. Shakes his head emphatically, and nudges the tray.

“Come on, Your Majesty,” she says. “I promised them I could fix it. I told everyone it wouldn’t take long, that I could _do_ it, but I…”

Tears slip down Annette’s cheeks. Exhausted, unhappy tears that she immediately tries to hide from him, huffing out a laugh. But Dimitri’s chest clenches, and for once he does not let himself overthink. He climbs into her lap. Stretching his tiny body up in an approximation of an embrace, his head pressing against hers.

It is, perhaps, the first time they have ever embraced. People have always maintained a careful distance to Dimitri, even those closest to him, and he has never sought to broach it. But Annette clutches cat-Dimitri to her without hesitation. Cries into his fur, just as Ingrid did, but this time Dimitri is not so embarrassed. Does not care to be embarrassed.

He rubs his head against Annette’s cheek, purring, and hears her teary laugh.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says when she pulls back, but Dimitri shakes his head again.

Under his watchful eye, Annette eats most of her dinner. She does not argue with him when he leads her out of the office and to her bedchamber. She all but collapses beneath the covers, sparing only the time to take her shoes off before she clambers into bed.

She is asleep almost immediately.

Emboldened by his success, Dimitri tackles Felix next. He pushes Annette’s door shut behind him as best as he is able – it is a heavy door, and he is only small, but he makes it work – then treads the familiar path to his own office.

Felix is definitely still in here. Dimitri can see light peeking from beneath the doorframe. This door, though, is shut, and he meows loudly to announce his presence.

Waits. Nothing. He stretches up, meowing again as he pats his paws insistently against the door.

He hears footsteps. Sits back on his haunches, tail swishing behind him, and Felix jerks the door open.

“What are you doing here?” Felix snaps.

Not even a hello. If Dimitri were still a man, he would sigh deeply.

As it is, he slides straight past Felix’s legs and into his office, leaping up onto the desk before Felix can form a protest. He scans its contents – a lot of paperwork, which is not a surprise. Felix is even worse at keeping up with it than Dimitri is.

“What do you want? I thought Dedue was watching over you,” Felix says, with just enough of a snarl that it’s more an accusation of Dedue’s supposed incompetence than a genuine inquiry.

Dimitri gives him a flat look. Takes a moment to study Felix – as ill-tempered and prickly as ever, but with an undercurrent of tension that threatens imminent explosion.

No change, then.

“I’ve got work to do. Move aside.” Felix sits back down at Dimitri’s desk and starts – well, Dimitri is charitably going to call it working. He is definitely ignoring Dimitri, in any case. Not willing to talk, not even offering an attempt at apology, though Dimitri is not expecting one.

Dimitri has exactly one strategy available to him at present. It worked for Ingrid. It worked for Annette. Bracing himself, he leaps into Felix’s lap.

The reaction is immediate. Felix shoves the chair back from the desk as though physically repulsed, though it does little to dislodge Dimitri from his lap.

“ _What_ are you doing?”

Dimitri looks up at him. Then, pointedly, he settles more comfortably onto Felix’s lap.

“Get off me, boar.”

Dimitri ignores him.

“I’m serious, _off_.”

Felix tries to pick Dimitri up, then, but is quickly dissuaded by the warning flash of Dimitri’s claws.

“Have you gone mad again?”

No reaction from Dimitri. Intentionally so – he can hear Felix’s venom, hear Felix trying to elicit a response, and it makes him even more determined not to budge.

“Get off me before I _throw_ you off.”

That one does make Dimitri look up. Not flinching, not upset – he looks calmly up at Felix. _You already did that, remember? And here I am._

Felix’s expression shuts down. He looks away, his mouth twisting. Dimitri isn’t sure what to make of him.

Felix stops arguing, though. Makes a show of ignoring Dimitri’s presence entirely when he pulls his chair back in and gets back to work, Dimitri still planted on his lap.

There is not much Dimitri can do about supervising his kingdom. He is absent during the day, kept under Dedue’s watchful eyes, while Felix is dealing with meetings and no doubt alienating everybody. Dimitri is trying his best to make peace with that, rather than strangle Felix the moment he gets his hands back.

Felix is struggling. Dimitri’s anger and frustration will not help. All he can do is _be here_ and hope it is enough.

They sit together for almost an hour before Dimitri feels a hand on his back. A gentle touch on his fur as Felix reads a document, absent-minded, because Felix himself does not seem to notice he is doing it.

Progress. A softening of Felix’s hard edges, no matter how small. Dimitri smiles to himself.

\- - -

Dimitri gets into a new habit. Every night, when Dedue is asleep, he sneaks out of his chambers.

He feels guilty. There is no way around that. Guilty at deceiving Dedue, who is nothing but loyal and honest and _good_ , but Dimitri does not see what other options are available to him. He and Dedue still cannot agree upon the subject of his safety. They never have, but especially not now.

Dimitri understands, he thinks. He tries to. Dedue often tells him he is reckless, though Dimitri does not know any other way to be. And now Dimitri is smaller than usual, and more vulnerable, and as incapable of wielding a weapon as he is at voicing his mind. He is small and fluffy and unable to defend himself, should something go wrong, and Dedue is paranoid. He left Dimitri with Felix, thinking Dimitri would be safe with him, and Felix accidentally disproved it.

In Dedue’s mind, Dimitri is not safe with _anyone_ , now, but himself. But Dedue was not there, did not see the incident. Cannot accept that it was accidental. And Dimitri has things he needs to do, things _nobody else_ is doing.

So he sneaks out. It is wrong, but he does it anyway. He will have to apologise to Dedue later.

His nightly escapades always begin the same way. He goes to Annette first, for she is easy to find. He sits with her while she talks him through her latest research and theories. Dimitri has never had much of a head for magic, does not pretend to understand, but he does not need to. Talking seems to help Annette understand it better herself.

Every night, he sits on her lap. It is strange, for a while, and then it isn’t. There is nothing untoward about it, nothing inappropriate. She tickles his ears, and strokes his fur, and his presence and softness and, well, _cuteness_ calm her down.

Dimitri has never been cute a day in his life. But it is not, as it turns out, the worst thing in the world to be.

Each night, he sees her eat dinner and sends her off to bed. She laughs at him, tells him not to look so grumpy, but she is soft and smiling when she says it. She no longer looks so tired, or lost, or afraid. No longer carries the weight of the world on her shoulders.

All Dimitri can do, stuck as he is, is just… be with her. But some way, somehow, that is enough.

His time with Annette bolsters him for the difficult part of his evening. Once she goes to sleep, he braces himself and goes off to find Felix.

He is not in Dimitri’s office every night. Sometimes he is in his chambers. Sometimes he is at the training grounds. Sometimes he is wandering the halls, and it takes Dimitri hours to catch so much as a glimpse of him.

Felix is not pleasant. Dimitri sits on him anyway.

Sitting in Felix’s lap is nothing like sitting in Annette’s. It is, in a word, awkward, and Dimitri is forever astonished by his own daring. It is uncomfortable, and a little hostile, and so, so _strange_ to be so close to him.

There is something else, too. A tension, never breaking, never building. A constant, underlying thing. A hyperawareness, perhaps, though that does not sound right either. All Dimitri knows is that it is different with Felix than it is with Annette, or anyone else.

Just… different.

Felix and Dimitri’s relationship is a complicated thing. But Felix likes cats. Forgets, sometimes, and strokes his fingers through Dimitri’s soft fur. Relaxes, the tension slipping out of him as a fluffy little body keeps him company. So Dimitri sits in his lap, and tries very hard not to think about how strange it would be if Dimitri were his usual shape.

It is not a perfect strategy. Because Felix periodically forgets and then remembers again that Dimitri is _Dimitri_ , and he gets even pricklier. Especially if he catches himself patting Dimitri. But Dimitri ignores his insults, and despite his threats, Felix does not throw him off again.

Progress is progress, Dimitri reminds himself. Anything is better than nothing.

It is a holding pattern, though. An impasse. Until, one day, it is not.

\- - -

It happens on a largely uneventful night. Dimitri runs later than usual after an evening sitting with Dedue by the fireside, Dedue reading his latest correspondence to him – personal letters, nothing to do with his work. A letter from Mercedes, short but sweet, telling him the date of her next visit to Fhirdiad and that she is looking forward to seeing him. A parcel containing a letter and a book recommendation from Ashe, accompanied by a shy assurance that Dimitri does not _have_ to read it, as though Ashe does not have Dimitri’s tastes perfectly pinpointed by now. A note from the Archbishop, as brief and sparing as they are in person, but undoubtedly warm as they write to inform him that the Officer’s Academy is undergoing refurbishment. Nothing important, nothing significant – not the Archbishop writing to a king, but a teacher sharing school trivia with a former student.

It is nice. So nice for Dimitri to have time to devote his full attention to his letters. Not having to skim them in a hurry and move onto the next thing. To have Dedue read them to him in his calm, steady voice, periodically scratching Dimitri’s ears.

(Dimitri will never admit it to anyone, but he really does like having his ears scratched. It has to be a cat thing.)

The point is – Dimitri is late. Late when he goes to Annette, and he is less than pleased to find her working steadily without his intervention. She makes a breakthrough within minutes of him walking in the door, and then it takes another hour to coax her excited, active mind into bed.

It is past midnight when he goes to Felix. Later than Dimitri usually visits him, and he is expecting Felix to be asleep by now.

He slinks around the outside of the building to Felix’s window. It is on the first floor, but there is a convenient trellis nearby, and in his current form climbing is little issue for Dimitri. He intends to peek in, see Felix asleep, then go back to his chambers.

He never meant to walk in on something private.

Felix is asleep, but not restfully so. He is thrashing. His head turns from side to side, legs kicking wildly. Felix has always been a restless sleeper, ever since childhood, but this is different.

 _Nightmare_ , Dimitri thinks.

He does not have long to dither over whether to wake him. Felix’s eyes snap open all of a sudden. He does not move, does not cry out. Stares up at the ceiling as he gasps for breath.

Suddenly, Felix jerks into a sitting position. Kicking at his sheets, but in a thrashing, violent way that only tangles him further. He tugs at his hair. Buries his face in his hands.

He is crying. Felix is crying.

Dimitri’s breath stills. He should not be here. Should not be watching this, a silent spectator at Felix’s window. Felix would not want him here, would not want anyone to see him like this. Hunched in his lonely chamber in the dead of night, hair a mess and skin covered in cold sweat.

But he is crying, and Dimitri cannot leave him.

Felix is a flawed man. Cruel, sharp, angry. He calls on brutal honesty rather than tact, and fails to see why other people’s feelings should be his problem.

He drives Dimitri mad, sometimes. But Dimitri does love him. Has known Felix too long not to love him, one of the few constants in Dimitri’s life, one of the few who survived when everyone else was torn away.

Dimitri has not been good at showing his care, any more than Felix has. But Felix is crying, and Dimitri has had enough.

He climbs in through the window. Softly, he meows.

Felix’s head startles up, his tear-streaked face morphing into an expression of shock and then rage, as Dimitri knew it would. 

“What are you – get out, get _out._ ” His voice is cracking, shaking. Felix throws a pillow, but it misses Dimitri by a mile. “Get the hell out, Dimitri!”

Dimitri jumps up onto the bed and Felix physically recoils, scrambling towards the headboard. Snarling, even as his tears glisten on his cheeks. A wounded animal, half fight, half flight.

“You’re unbelievable. Get away from me!”

Felix growls and rants and shouts, all bluster and vitriolic fury. Dimitri does not listen to him. He listens instead to the trembling of Felix’s hands, the hoarseness of his voice, the teartracks Felix tries so desperately to scrub away.

Dimitri understands all of a sudden. Understands Felix in a way he has not since they were children.

Dimitri steps into Felix’s lap. Felix is frozen, his hands hovering nearby, but he does not shove Dimitri off. Not since that first time. He is angry, miserable, still trembling.

Dimitri climbs up his chest. Sets his paws on Felix’s shoulder and leans in so he can nuzzle him with his head. It is never easy, with Felix, and he tries to manoeuvre Dimitri off him, but Dimitri is getting used to being a cat. Used to slipping and sliding out of clutching hands, quicker and more flexible than he has ever been before.

Felix stops struggling. Says, gruff, “Just get off me, Dimitri.”

Felix looks even worse up close, drawn and sad and ashamed. Not raising a hand against Dimitri, even when Dimitri is clearly pushing his boundaries. 

It was an accident, when Felix threw him. Just an accident.

Dimitri relents. Withdraws, though he does not go far. He lies down with his body pressed against Felix’s thigh, and shuts his eye as if he means to go to sleep. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Felix says. “What do you even think you’re doing? Go to bed, Dimitri.”

Dimitri could not reply, even if he wanted to, which he does not. It’s almost funny ‒ everyone is always telling Dimitri _you two should talk_. But when has talking ever done them any good? When have either of them ever been good at it?

He hears Felix let out a shaky breath, the sound of him wiping his face on his sleeve. Another pause. Then Felix lies awkwardly back down, and Dimitri takes a peek at him. Felix is tense, lying on his back like a body in a coffin. Staring up at the ceiling.

Felix does not ask Dimitri to leave again. And even if Dimitri could not feel the way Felix is shaking, that would be clue enough.

Dimitri does not like being left alone with his nightmares either.

\- - -

Dimitri sits with Felix a lot, after that.

It is yet another new phase in their long-standing relationship. No work, no duties to occupy them. Dimitri just sits with Felix – with him, near him, on him – in companionable silence, and Felix puts up a token protest before pretending to ignore Dimitri entirely.

Something has changed. Dimitri does not entirely understand how, or why, but it has. Things are… easier between them. Softer. Felix forgets to keep his barriers up, and his fingers often stray when he is distracted. Rubbing Dimitri’s fur, stroking his hands along Dimitri’s back. He is noticeably calmer when Dimitri’s small, fluffy body is seated in his lap.

When all of this is over, Felix should really get a cat. It would be good for him.

“You better not distract me,” Felix says in lieu of a greeting when he enters his chambers one evening and finds Dimitri already sitting on his bed.

Felix pulls out a book. Joins Dimitri on the bed, at a stiff and respectable distance, though Dimitri quickly broaches it. Felix huffs when Dimitri’s head comes to rest on his thigh.

Reaches down, after a minute, to stroke his hand over Dimitri’s head.

Dimitri’s heart is soft. Filled with a warm, pleasant feeling, not one he usually associates with Felix. They had not touched in years, before this. Now Dimitri cannot imagine being any other way.

After an hour, though, he makes a noise of complaint. Felix is still reading, and it was late when he came in – he should be asleep. Felix ignores him, so Dimitri bats at his book. Stares meaningfully between Felix and the pillows, waiting for him to take the hint.

Felix snorts, and turns the page.

The flash of irritation that follows is very familiar to Dimitri. Irritation at Felix being stubborn, refusing to offer even the vaguest explanation for his bullheadedness, and Dimitri’s own temper rearing in instinctive response. Not a helpful one – Dimitri digging his heels in only ever sets them at odds.

He is learning better. Another way. A more productive one. 

Dimitri sets his dignity aside and pushes himself between Felix’s book and his face.

“Get lost, Dimitri.” Felix nudges him away with a firm but careful hand.

Dimitri has all the time in the world. Comes back, and comes back, and comes back. Gentle but persistent until Felix throws his book down with an irritated noise.

“Let me read. I can’t sleep anyway,” Felix snaps. Then his expression shutters, as though he has said too much.

Dimitri considers him. It is… not a surprise, all things considered. There have been times in Dimitri’s life where he was too afraid to close his eyes for fear of what his dreams might show him.

 _Felix, Felix, Felix_. He was a bastion of strength all through the war. Implacable, brave, determined. Dealing death as all soldiers must do, his sword unwavering. But death, even when dealt through necessity, is not an easy thing.

Dimitri takes in Felix’s pointed features, all familiar except for the dull sheen to his eyes, the bitter twist etched permanently into his lips. Dimitri has not seen Felix smile in a long time. Doubts anyone has.

Dimitri wishes Felix would smile again. Understands all too well how impossible smiling can be, sometimes.

To Dimitri’s surprise, Felix reaches up to scratch at the spot behind his ear. Running his fingers over the delicate tip, and Dimitri does not realise what Felix is doing until his fingers graze over the scab.

It was not a bad cut. When Felix threw him off, Dimitri skidded across the table, and he has vague recollection of banging into things along the way. He bled, and against his white fur the injury looked more frightening than it was.

“I’m…” Felix trails off. Tries again. “I didn’t mean to…”

Felix’s finger brushes the scab again. Careful, so careful. Felix ducks his head. “I… Sorry.”

Dimitri stills. He was not expecting an apology, not then and not now, because the incident was as much his fault as it was Felix’s. Felix threw him, true enough, but he reacted to surprise and pain. Dimitri misjudged his trajectory, dug his claws into Felix to catch himself – he must have hurt Felix too.

Dimitri rubs his head into Felix’s hand. Purrs, and Felix huffs out something like a laugh, though it sounds almost painful. Nothing like the proud, upright man Dimitri knows him as. 

Felix cannot sleep without nightmares. Cannot bite his tongue or hold his temper. Reacts to things with unnecessary violence, with impulsive rage, entirely out of proportion.

Felix is angry. Ashamed.

Small.

Dimitri nuzzles under Felix’s chin. His heart is beating too fast. Aching. He presses his entire body up against Felix’s and wills Felix to understand.

For a moment, Felix’s body is bowstring tight. Then he lets go, stroking his hands down Dimitri’s back. Holding him, almost. Close to, but not quite, an embrace.

“It’s… easier when you’re like this,” Felix mutters. He does not explain further, but Dimitri thinks he knows what he means.

\- - -

Annette finds a way to turn Dimitri back into himself the next day.

“I’ve got it!” she shouts as she bursts in through the door of his chambers at six in the morning. Hair wild, clothing askew, face alight with excitement.

Dimitri jolts awake from his place on the bed. Dedue, who has been staying on a mattress he shoved onto the floor of Dimitri’s walk-in wardrobe, peers his head blearily around the doorframe.

(Ridiculous, for him to sleep there. The bed is big enough for four at the best of times, and it is not like Dimitri’s current form takes up a lot of space. Dimitri could have curled his entire body onto a single couch cushion and been perfectly comfortable. Dedue, though, refused point-blank to take the bed, and dragged a mattress all the way up here by himself. He is infuriating. Dimitri is very fond of him.)

“The enchantment is a rare one, but it reminded me of something I’d seen in Mendlev’s _Laws of Transmogrification_ ,” Annette babbles, hands gesticulating wildly. “Of course it’s mainly theory because he died before he could put much into practice, but it got me thinking. Why shouldn’t it work? It’s just like…”

She talks on, reminding Dimitri of exactly why she was appointed to the Royal School of Sorcery. Annette is brilliant. Dimitri’s never even heard of Mendlev. He has no idea what she’s talking about.

“It will require testing,” Dedue says when she pauses for breath. He rises from his bedding, hair loose about his shoulders. Dressed for sleep, he wears nothing but soft trousers and a loose shirt, far too open down the middle for mixed company.

Annette squeaks, covering her eyes with her hand. “Of course I’ll _test_ it first.”

Her cheeks are very pink. Dedue, bless him, does not appear to notice.

Dimitri spends most of his morning watching Annette confer with a parade of sorcerers Dedue insists upon speaking with before she attempts the reversal. The verdict is a promising one. It looks very much indeed like today is the day that Dimitri will be returned to his usual form.

He thinks of Felix, pressed close and warm and intimate against him. Thinks of Felix’s hands stroking through his fur. Thinks of pillowing his head on Felix’s thigh, quiet and content. Close, closer than they have been in years, without ever having to speak.

 _Just one more night_ , he wants to say. One more night to be with Felix, and sort out the mess between them, and _hold_ him without embarrassment or reservation on either of their parts.

Dimitri cannot talk. In this instance, it is probably for the best.

Dimitri transforms back into a man in a flash of blue light, a dizzying sensation of _growing_ , and an embarrassed squeak of his own when he finds himself entirely naked. All in all, though, it is rather anticlimactic.

It is a relief to be himself again. To walk on two legs and see a human face staring back at him in the mirror. To pull on his eye patch and cloak and gloves, and not get mountains of his own hair all over them. 

There are some things he wishes would stay. Closeness, for one. Being touched, being held, without hesitation or awkwardness. But Dimitri is not a cat anymore. He is the king, and he must observe the dignity of his rank. 

For a moment he grieves the loss of those things before his own absurdity catches up to him. He has always been a reserved man, always kept to himself. He was brought up to be so, and he knew no other way to be. 

But… Dimitri _likes_ being touched. A simple thing, perhaps even childish, but he likes it. There is nothing untoward in it, nothing inappropriate, and no virtue in abstaining from such a simple expression of fondness. As long as his touch is not unwelcome, there is no reason why he should not show affection to his friends.

Dimitri shakes his head. Laughing at himself, at the world. Goes out to greet it as a human being once more.

He starts with Dedue. Claps him warmly on the shoulder, and when Dedue’s lips tilt upwards Dimitri steps forward and clasps him in a bear hug.

“Thank you for taking care of me, my friend,” he says. _Friend_. Best friend, vassal – Dedue is both, and the lines are still hard sometimes. So Dimitri says ‘friend’. Pointed, but a question nonetheless.

A question Dedue quickly answers when he hugs him back.

Annette is next. He finds her in her workspace, as usual, though this time she is tidying up. Bundling together great sheaves of notes, and Dimitri would not be surprised if she has invented a whole new type of sorcery through this.

“Annette,” he greets.

“Your Majesty! You’re looking better.”

“I have you to thank for that. Though truly, Annette, you work too hard. You should not sacrifice food and sleep for spell-work. I can see you have exhausted yourself, and there was no need to rush–” Dimitri cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “I am lecturing you, forgive me. I am grateful to you. Thank you.”

Annette is smiling at him. Bright and sweet as ever, but with a sheen of tears behind her eyes.

Tears? Even now?

“You’re always so serious,” she says. Laughs, shoving a strand of messy hair behind her ear. “We missed you, you know.”

 _I was right here_ , Dimitri wants to say. Confused, awkward, and long-held instinct prods him to flee out the door, well away from any overt displays of emotion or affection.

But he steadies himself. Opens his arms, and is surprised when Annette all but dives into them, squeezing her arms around his middle. Nothing uncomfortable or strange about it – just the press of her tiny body against his, warm and familiar. Familial, somehow, even though Dimitri’s family is long dead.

(Later, he will feel it again with Sylvain, who will tweak his very-human ear and say, “Hey, kitty-cat,”, bolting down the corridor before Dimitri can retaliate. And again when Ingrid returns at last with the perpetrator in her grasp, expression that of a repentant sinner rather than the noble knight she is. She will kneel before him, head bowed, and Dimitri will take her hands and pull her back to her feet. Scold her thoroughly for thinking of resigning, for thinking she has failed him in any capacity, then clasp her in a brisk embrace. She will startle, but return it just as fiercely, clapping him on the back so hard he is sure it will leave a bruise.)

Dimitri goes to Felix last. Partly because it is tradition. Partly because it feels inevitable – Felix _must_ be last. Because Felix is difficult, and he takes time. Because Felix is prickly, and argumentative, and so desperately, awfully angry.

Because Felix is different. Different in the way Dimitri feels about him, if nothing else.

Felix is in his private chamber. Not in the king’s office, now the king himself has returned. Dimitri steadies himself, and knocks on Felix’s door.

“What are you doing here?” It is Felix’s standard greeting by now. Dimitri does not reply.

Like a cat, he slips past him. Into his bedroom, sitting down on Felix’s bed. Watching Felix’s proud, angry façade melt into something less certain.

A flicker. Felix at war with himself, hostility and embarrassment and vulnerability passing through his eyes in quick flashes. Dimitri could not read them if he did not know Felix so well. Could not read them if he had not seen the anger that plagues Felix for what it truly is.

(Damage. Damage playing out only now, and Dimitri does not understand why, but he understands being haunted all too well.)

“Felix,” Dimitri says.

Felix takes a breath. Comes to sit beside him on the bed, so tense a single touch might break him in two. Scowling, shoulders hunched.

He is a mess of a man. Dimitri… Dimitri cares for him. So much that it makes his heart ache in his chest.

Dimitri does not know what to say, but it does not matter. He does not need to find the words. Instead he reaches out and takes Felix’s hand in his, hearing Felix’s sharp intake of breath. Feeling the tremble of Felix’s fingers as Felix stops himself from jerking away.

It is so different, touching Felix, and Dimitri thinks he understands now. Felix is struggling, and volatile, and now is probably not a good time for him, but maybe, maybe…

Dimitri has loved Felix a long time, as long as he can remember. Now, he considers all the things that love might be.

He looks up at Felix. Unsurprised when Felix’s eyes dart away, unable to return his gaze, unable to speak. Unable to be vulnerable, even when Dimitri knows he is.

Dimitri squeezes his hand, and it is an offer. Just an offer, silent and unspoken. Not a demand, promise, or even an expectation. Just an offer of all they might be, as Dimitri runs his thumb over Felix’s knuckles.

Maybe. Maybe. For all of Felix’s faults, for all of Dimitri’s, for all they’ve been and done to each other… Maybe.

Felix turns his head away, and Dimitri thinks he has his answer. Feels the sharp pang of disappointment, a twist deep in his gut.

But then Felix's hand twists in Dimitri's grip. Shifting so they are palm to palm. Taking Dimitri's hand more firmly in his own as, ever so carefully, Felix squeezes back.

**Author's Note:**

> **At one point in the fic, Felix bodily throws Dimitri (who is in cat form) off him, and Dimitri sustains minor injuries. This is an accidental incident, but please be advised if this could be problematic/triggering for you.
> 
> Also I'm @ladylapisxx on Twitter, come say hi!


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